


Some pressure that we can push

by Honeymull



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Post-Trade, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 14:45:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1514285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honeymull/pseuds/Honeymull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the tension from not speaking to each other the rest of the season after Cally got traded is melting in the heat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some pressure that we can push

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cathybites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathybites/gifts).



> Title from Play Hard by David Guetta. Uh, have you met me?
> 
> Originally a memefic from [my tumblr](http://honeysunk.tumblr.com/). Come say hi. I might even say hi back. Prompt from Cathybites: Dan/Cally, Pinning the other to a wall.

It’s so hot the condensation on the outside of Dan’s beer is dripping down his wrist. Tampa’s BRUTAL in the summer, but so is Manhattan, so when Cally demanded Dan come see him in the offseason, Dan couldn’t find a reason why not.

It’s been…interesting. All the tension from not speaking to each other the rest of the season after Cally got traded is melting in the heat, and Dan lets his head loll back on his shoulders. He feels loose and muggy and a little drunk, sitting here on Cally’s front porch in the scorching afternoon sun.

"Yeah," Cally says, laziness making his vowels rounder. Dan tilts his head a tiny bit to look at him, and Cally’s smirking at him.

Dan just lets himself smile back a little, overheated but happy for the moment, here with Cally again like they’re kicked out on Hank’s balcony back in New York.

He sighs, then, knowing they aren’t, and takes a deep pull of his beer. Condensation slides over his knuckles, down his palm. He licks it up without thinking, a rough lap of his tongue from the thin skin of his wrist up to the ball of his thumb.

When he looks up, Cally’s watching him, his grip on his own lukewarm beer white. Mouth open a little, lips slack. It could be the heat making him look dazed and blown, eyes narrow on Dan.

It’s not.

Dan wants to try smirking back, but he can never pull it off like Cally can. Besides, it’s too hot, and it makes just the idea of teasing unbearable.

There’s a long moment. Cally’s fingers flex around his beer bottle as he sets it down carefully, and then, watching Danny watching him, he levers himself up off the porch steps and wordlessly disappears inside.

Dan takes too-long to follow him, the sun burning out any quickness to his mental reflexes, but he stretches, aware of the sweat under his shirt gathered in the small of his back, between his shoulder blades.

He gets two steps in the - thank god, blessedly cool - front door before Cally’s in his space, pushing the door shut and pressing Dan against it with both hands at his hips.

"Tell me now if this isn’t something you still want." Cally’s blunt, cutting to the chase as usual, and fuck but Dan’s missed that. The corners of his lips curl up a little, fond, and Cally thumps him in the chest.

"Dan. I mean it."

That’s annoying, and Dan huffs. He grabs Cally’s wrist and tugs hard, sudden, enough to surprise Cally, wrenching them around so Cally’s up against the front wall. Cheekfirst, his arm behind him in Dan’s grip, and he makes a sound that’s half offended and half hot approval.

"I mean it, too." Dan leans in close enough to say it right into Cally’s ear, opening his mouth against the sweat on Cally’s neck, setting his teeth lightly where it’s all thick, thick muscle. "I’ve always fucking meant it."

Whoops. He didn’t mean to say that. He covers by shoving his hips forward, showing Cally how much he means THIS, at least.

Cally’s free hand scrabbles at the wall. “Fuck, yes.” He pushes back into Dan, eager as always, his wrist turning in Dan’s grip like he likes how it FEELS when Dan tightens his fingers around the bones there, grinding together. He’s starting to pant, and Dan will never get over just how fast Cally gets worked up for him.

Dan starts a rhythm, rubbing hard against Cally’s ass like they’re back in Guelph, young and stupid and high on the game and finding each other. He nudges his forehead against Cally’s shoulder even though it’s hell on his back, gnaws at the thin material of Cally’s tshirt like he’s trying to bite through to the skin.

He thinks he can hear Cally swearing breathlessly into the wall, wouldn’t be surprised with the way Cally’s hips are twitching back into Dan’s thrusts like he wants to get fucked.

The air-conditioning unit kicks on, and Dan doesn’t even notice. He feels just as stroked-out and heat-dazed as if they were still back outside, squinting in the sun and turning gradually redder. He knows there’s drops of sweat sliding down his spine, and over his temples, and he rubs his sweat-wet hair into the collar of Cally’s shirt.

"Shit," he hisses, hips driving - and even with the layers between them, it makes a sound, obvious in it’s nature, the rhythmic smack of bodies. He traps Cally’s hips flat against the wall and grinds in, feeling the pressure so good against his cock, thinking about getting Cally into bed later, pressing his slicked thumb in and out of his hole until Cally swears, until he’s clawing at the sheets before giving in and begging Dan for more.

He tries to tell Cally that, what he’s thinking about, half-sentences muttered into the skin below Cally’s ear, hot and prickly just with the idea, and Cally makes a hurt, embarrassed sound and jerks against Dan, coming between the rough plaster and the fabric of his board shorts in a rush.

He keeps making this low groan, fumbling with his free hand to pull Dan’s hips tighter against his ass when Dan goes to pull away. “Fuck, no, please, just-“

And how can Dan argue with that, with Cally swearing and pleading in THAT tone of voice, so he gives in, gives up and grinds back in, uses Cally’s ass as it twitches back helpfully against him. He shoves his own shorts down and doesn’t actually have the coordination to get Cally’s shorts, too, since Cally’s making a shocked sound and jerking like he can FEEL the difference bare. Dan’s frankly surprised he’s lasting this long, so it only takes pressing Cally into the wall again and circling his cock four, five times against his ass before he’s coming all over Cally’s shorts, shooting up his bare back where his shirt’s rucked up.

They recover slowly. Dan pushes up off the wall where he’s slumped into Cally’s shoulder, and Cally wriggled out from under him.

Cally catches his breath first, and stands up straight, somehow looking serious despite the gigantic stain at the front of his shorts.

"I always meant it too. Asshole."

Dan blinks at him, brain working frantically to get back online after blowing every fuse, but it finally catches up to him. He reaches out and cuffs Cally back in by the hip. Cally goes recalcitrantly, but he goes.

"Yeah," Dan says, and huffs out a deep breath into Cally’s sweat-soaked shoulder. "Yeah, I know."


End file.
